


See You Around

by just_folie_a_deux_it



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Light Angst, M/M, Oral Sex, Post-Split, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-29
Updated: 2017-03-29
Packaged: 2018-10-12 16:52:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10495353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/just_folie_a_deux_it/pseuds/just_folie_a_deux_it
Summary: Brendon gets mobbed at the airport and Ryan saves him





	

The flight to LAX was supposed to be easy. The tour was over, everyone was exhausted, it was all supposed to be painless. Brendon was excited to get home and sleep in his own bed. He couldn’t wait to have his own shower, or to be able to sleep as late as he felt like. It was just a matter of landing, grabbing his stuff, and going home.

As he snatched his suitcase from the airport’s carousal, he heard his name being shouted, a cacophony of voices begging for his attention. He looked up with a smile already plastered on his face. It was just fans; he’d sign some stuff, take a few pictures, no big deal. Zack was coming over to keep an eye, trying to block him from the crowd forming around them and security was making their way over as well. It was normal for a moment, what he was used to: just fans crying out for him and trying to get a picture or an autograph. However, after a moment, he began getting nervous. It felt like everyone was closing in, the voices getting louder and the flashes of a camera or two from paparazzi blinding him. People were tugging at his sleeves, waving their hands, and trying to get him to notice them.

He tried asking for some room, but his voice was lost in the din. Suddenly it didn’t seem like this was going to be very easy. He couldn’t breathe, everyone too hot against him and sucking the oxygen away from his lungs, fuck, he just needed some room. Zack was trying to help, moving people out of the way and trying to make space for Brendon to walk through, but it wasn’t working. Brendon was suffocating, and tripping over his own feet and other people’s feet, he was gonna pass out soon if he didn’t do something.

It was the hand against his neck that did it. He dropped his suitcase and bolted, breaking through the crowd and rushing off. And then he was running, far from all of the chaos behind him-even though he could hear the people beginning to follow-running like his life depended on it. It was as if he didn’t run fast enough, didn’t throw everything he had into keeping his feet pounding on the airport floor, he was going to be done for. He just kept running, faster and faster, so focused on getting away that he didn’t even see the arm shoot out as it yanked him to the side, a hand clapping over his mouth before he could scream.

He was pressed quickly against a wall, panicked shouts muffled by the palm over his lips. He could hear someone shushing him, probably trying to sound soothing, but he was in the middle of an anxiety attack and could hardly think straight. He was just able to register someone speaking to him.

“Breathe, Bren, you have to breathe, you’re hyperventilating, do you hear me? Brendon? Breathe.” The voice sounded far away, but Brendon vaguely thought it was familiar.

He tried to suck in air, but his head was spinning and the hand over his mouth really wasn’t helping.

“I’m gonna let you go, okay? Just don’t scream or they’ll come in here looking for you.” The voice was soft, low and careful.

‘Here’ turned out to be the men’s bathroom, and Brendon was pressed against the tile of the wall. He nodded quickly, finally letting his eyes trail around and find the person who had saved him.

“ _Ryan_?” Brendon blinked.

The words came out ragged, breathless, his lungs still trying to catch up with his brain.

The lyricist nodded, running a hand through messy brown hair. Brendon noticed it had gotten longer since the last time he’d seen the guitarist, and now he looked older. His eyes wouldn’t meet Brendon’s, flicking around to everywhere but the singer’s face.

“I just-I saw you-uh, running and stuff,” Ryan mumbled. “And I was able to piece together what was going on pretty fast, been there done that and all,” He laughed awkwardly. “So I pulled you in here. Sorry if it freaked you out.” His cheeks tinged a slight pink as he rubbed the back of his neck.

“What are you doing here?” The words came out harsher than Brendon intended them to, but he was more focused on the fact that Ryan was here, in a men’s bathroom with him, having just saved him from a crazed mob of fans.

“I was dropping Z off, she’s going to New York for a while.” Ryan shrugged, pushing his hands into the pockets of his pants.

Brendon nodded, the image of a blonde rockstar kissing Ryan’s cheek forming in his mind and a small pang of jealousy shooting through him.

“Anyways,” Ryan looked back over at Brendon, still not quite meeting his eye. “You may wanna call Zack and tell him where you are or whatever. He’ll come get you and take you home.”

Brendon felt in his pockets for his phone, pulling the device out and pushing the home button before glaring down at the screen. “It’s dead.” He muttered, shoving it back into his pocket.

“You don’t have a charger?”

“Ross, I dropped my shit and fucking ran, my charger was in my suitcase.” Brendon snapped, glaring back up at the guitarist.

“Hey, this isn’t my fault.” Ryan said, frowning slightly.

Brendon sighed and nodded, pinching the bridge of his nose. “No, I know. I’m sorry. You helped me, I shouldn’t be yelling at you.” He muttered.

It was strange, being in the same room as Ryan again. Stranger still that it was the men’s bathroom in LAX, and Ryan had just saved him. All the same, Brendon wanted to laugh, if bitterly, at the fact that it had only been a few minutes and they were already starting to argue. They never could go long without fighting, towards the end. That’s all they seemed to be: fighting and fucking.

“I could, y’know, drop you off if you need a ride.” Ryan bit his lip and once again looked everywhere but Brendon’s face.

Brendon blinked. “You’d do that?” He asked, cheeks flushing.

“What, you expect me to just leave you stranded here? Do you even have your wallet on you to get a cab?” Ryan asked, crossing his arms in front of his chest and arching an eyebrow.

Brendon didn’t even have to feel his pocket to know that, no, he didn’t have his wallet on him, he distinctly remembered shoving it into his carry-on as they’d boarded the plane.

“I didn’t think so.” Ryan’s voice wasn’t accusing, just slightly amused and his lips had even quirked into a sort of smile.

“Shut up.” Brendon mumbled, but even that didn’t come out as aggressive as he might have liked.

“Alright, let’s get out of here.” Ryan said, nodding to the door.

“What if they’re still out there waiting for me? Someone’s gonna see us, it’ll be worse if they see you too. It’ll be all over everywhere, you know how they can be.” Brendon pointed out, crossing his own arms.

Ryan laughed softly, the sound still managing to send shivers up Brendon’s spine despite the fact that he hadn’t heard it in so fucking long. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that Ryan got to leave, got to disappear from Brendon’s life and hardly ever call or text, that he got to break things off and act as if it were some mutual decision when Brendon most certainly had not been okay with them splitting up. It wasn’t fair that after all of that, Ryan laughing at something he said still made Brendon feel warm in his chest and butterflies in his stomach.

“I know how they are.” Ryan agreed, nodding. “They blow up my pages with ‘ryden confirmed’ and ‘when is the band getting back together’?”

And Brendon just nodded, giving a soft little laugh of his own. He wanted to look up and ask “Well, when _is_ the band getting back together?” but he knew the answer, knew Ryan would just have some long, drawn out explanation that really came down to “It can’t” which sounded to Brendon a lot like “I don’t want it to”.

“Here, just put on my jacket and sunglasses, stay low and we’ll try to make it out of here alive, alright?” Ryan shrugged off his coat and offered it to Brendon, giving a small smile. “We’ve done this before, we’ve got this.”

Brendon bit his lip, staring down at the jacket with a small frown. It reminded him of before, the way Ryan spoke. Before them, before the kissing, the touching, the fucking, the falling in love, the fighting, the breaking. It was all Before, when they’d only just brushed fame. They’d get hounded at the airport and would have to run off, hand in hand to get away. And Brendon used to tell himself Ryan only held his hand so they wouldn’t get separated, that the chills left behind were just from adrenaline.

And apparently Ryan noticed Brendon not immediately taking his coat because he frowned too, hand falling back by his side. “I’m sure we could just find some sort of side exit.” He tried instead, teeth tugging at his bottom lip like they did when he started to get nervous.

He used to do it all the time back when Brendon had first met him, when he’d knock on the door to Brendon’s shitty apartment in the middle of the night and ask if he could stay, just for a few hours. He’d be biting that bottom lip and looking at his shoes and Brendon would just pull him in and try to not notice the new bruises as they both laid down and fell asleep, tangled in each other.

“No.” Brendon shook his head. “No, come on, we gotta go.” He sighed, reaching out and taking Ryan’s jacket and pulling it on.

The sleeves were far too long, nearly hanging over his hands and fuck it smelled just like Ryan. Brendon wanted to bury his face in the fabric and inhale, just fucking suffocate on the scent. Instead, he simply rolled up the sleeves and nodded to himself.

Brendon glanced up and saw Ryan staring, eyes a fraction wider than they usually were.

“What?” Brendon asked, crossing his arms over himself defensively. “It’s your ugly jacket.”

Ryan shook his head. “No, no. Nothing, come on, we gotta go.”

Brendon just rolled his eyes. “Now’s not really the time for you to be having some weird me-wearing-your-clothes kink.” He muttered.

And Ryan just blushed and glared, handing over his sunglasses. “I should just leave you here. Stranded at the airport and having to prostitute yourself out for a ride.”

Brendon grinned and looked up, sliding the sunglasses over his eyes. “It’d work, too. I’d probably pick up some old rich guy who drives a Jaguar.” He said.

“Shut up, let’s just fucking get out of here.”

If it were a different time, if it were long ago, if it were Before, Brendon would tease him. He’d probably shoot off some remark about Ryan being jealous like ‘Why, Ross, do you wish that _you_ could pick me up in your Jaguar for the night?’ and he’d poke Ryan’s side when the guitarist blushed and they’d laugh and maybe even kiss.

Instead, he just nodded and pulled the jacket closer around his middle, following Ryan out of the men’s bathroom at LAX and into the airport.

As they walked out they saw that the crowd was basically gone, which was good for them in that this meant many fans weren’t around, but bad because if anyone saw them there really wasn’t much cover.

“I’m parked pretty close by, we’ve basically just got to make it to the door.” Ryan turned back, glancing at Brendon.

But the door seemed terribly far to Brendon, miles away and he figured they would be lucky to make it halfway there.

“Well,” He muttered. “We’ll get there or die trying.”

“So dramatic.” Ryan rolled his eyes, reaching back and tugging Brendon along with him, pulling him quickly towards the door.

“Hey, your legs are longer than mine, you fucking giant, slow down!” Brendon cried, practically having to jog now to keep up.

He pointedly ignored the way Ryan’s fingers felt intertwined with his. It was as if nothing had changed, the way Ryan held his hand. Like they were just running through the airport and trying to make it past fans without getting their clothes ripped off. Brendon thought just maybe if he turned back he’d see Spencer and Jon trying to catch up to them.

“Keep up, shortstack.” Ryan laughed.

“Hey, isn’t that Brendon Urie?”

Brendon froze, blinking. His heart began pounding and the anxiety kicked in as if suddenly they were surrounded already.

“Yeah, it is! It’s Brendon from Panic!”

“Bren, hey, breathe.” Ryan murmured, tugging Brendon closer to him. “Seriously, it’s like, two girls, it’s alright. Just say ‘hi’ really quick, and then we can go.”

Brendon looked up, swallowing, and nodded. It was ridiculous that he was having to look to fucking Ryan for comfort at this point, but he was tired and anxious and his body seemed to have decided today was the day it wanted to betray him and make him act like some fucking damsel in distress.

But the girls didn’t even come over, they were calling out to someone, getting on their phones and small clips of their conversation were hitting Brendon’s ear about ‘Chelsea is gonna flip’ and ‘why don’t you call Adam?’. It hit Brendon that sooner rather than later there was going to be many more people.

“We gotta go.” Brendon whispered, snatching Ryan’s hand in his and squeezing.

His voice left no room for argument and Ryan just nodded.

“Okay, okay come on, don’t worry.” He mumbled, pulling Brendon along even quicker than he had been before.

Brendon couldn’t keep up, not with Ryan’s feet taking strides as long as Brendon was tall.

“Slow the fuck down.” He hissed, trying to come off more angry than afraid.

Ryan glanced back, and Brendon did too in time to see the girls notice them walking away.

“Hey, wait, we just have some friends coming, can’t you stay to say hi?”

“We really have somewhere to be, I’m so sorry!” Ryan called back.

But apparently that really just wasn’t good enough because the girls seemed to recognize Ryan too, and were running after them and more people had begun to notice the pair as well, taking out their phones and calling out.

“Isn’t that Brendon Urie from Panic! At the Disco?” Someone shouted.

“Fuck, okay, new plan.” Ryan breathed, stopping for a second and looking down at Brendon.

“W-what?” Brendon was shaking now despite himself, feeling far more afraid than he felt he should have been by some teenage girls and a few cameras.

“Hold on.” Ryan said quickly, scooping Brendon up into his arms and sprinting for the door.

Brendon blinked and locked his arms around Ryan’s neck, taken aback by the way the guitarist was able to hold him firm, and beyond that run. He knew Ryan was strong, he’d been pinned down by the other many a time for various reasons, and Ryan had even carried him around a time or two, held him up so they could fuck against the wall a few times, but this was something else.

He buried his face in Ryan’s shoulder, focusing instead on his breathing. Everything smelled of Ryan, everything around him was Ryan, there was only him and Ryan and the slight jostle of every step Ryan took.

They hit outside and Ryan just kept running, though Brendon knew they probably could have slowed down enough that he could keep up by now. He wasn’t complaining though, he’d missed Ryan’s arms around him, missed being able to press his face up into the crook of the guitarist’s neck and breathe him in. Though, of course, he’d deny it to anyone that asked, especially himself.

After a minute the movement stopped and Ryan set Brendon down, panting softly.

“You fuckin’ lift now or some shit?” Brendon asked, his own voice coming out breathless despite the fact that he’d done nothing at all except cling to his former bandmate.

“Something like that.” Ryan gasped, bending over and resting his hands on his knees as he tried to gulp in air.

“Th-thank you.” Brendon mumbled, ducking his head, but glancing up at Ryan through his lashes.

“Don’t mention it.” Ryan nodded, standing up straight again and running a hand through his hair. “C’mon, we really gotta get out of here before they find us again.” He added, fishing his keys from his pants pocket and unlocking the doors. “That’s gonna be in the tabloids. ‘Brendon Urie Carried Out of Airport By Ex-Guitarist. Great.”

Brendon bit his lip, but nodded and made his way to the other side of the car, sliding into the passenger seat and buckling his seatbelt.

It wasn’t until they were on 101 that Brendon had the guts to over at Ryan. He took a deep breath, prepared to ask his question, but froze. Ryan just looked…beautiful. The way the sunlight was catching his face, making his eyes seem a brighter shade of brown, almost like honey. His hair was falling against his forehead, curling softly and nearly resting on one eye. His mouth was curved in the slightest smile, and his long fingers danced along the steering wheel to the radio as he hummed along.

After a moment, he let his eyes flick over to Brendon’s. “You gonna actually say something, or just stare at me for the rest of the ride?” He asked, voice low and monotone, the same as it had been as long as Brendon had known him.

Brendon blinked, cheeks flushing. “I-uh-I wasn’t-“ He stuttered, lowering his eyes before raising them back up. “Why are you helping me?” He asked softly.

Ryan frowned, lips quirking downward and his eyes stared at the road for a long moment before finding Brendon again briefly. “You expect me to have just left you at the airport on your own? You don’t have a phone, or money, or any way to really help yourself at this point. Or what, you think I’d have just let you run off when those fans were chasing you? If I hadn’t caught you who knows what would have happened?”

Brendon shook his head, clasping his hands together. Ryan knew how he got when his anxiety got out of control: frantic and hysterical without the sense to make any sort of logical decisions. He may have run out into traffic and gotten hurt, or worse.

“We just-“ He swallowed, looking down at his lap. “We didn’t end on good terms.” He said, focusing hard on his hands, not looking at Ryan or anywhere else.

“We did promise to stay friends.” Ryan murmured.

Brendon looked back up, glaring at Ryan although he could feel his eyes beginning to burn with tears. “Yeah? And how well did that turn out? I don’t remember the last time you texted me, or Hell, even the last time you talked to Spencer.” He shot. “It wasn’t some mutual break up where we shook hands and parted ways. You-“

“I left.” Ryan spit. “I know. I left.” He sighed. His fingers weren’t tapping on the wheel anymore, just resting there, gripping it. “We weren’t supposed to end like that.” He whispered.

Brendon frowned, bottom lip quivering just slightly. “We weren’t supposed to end at all.”

Ryan looked over, and Brendon just ducked his head again so the guitarist couldn’t see his face. He could feel the car turning as they took their exit. It was only five more minutes or so before they’d be parked outside of Brendon’s house and Ryan would be gone. Again.

Ryan was wrong anyways. If they had to end, of course they were going to do it the way they’d started: in flames. They’d begun with heat and passion and fire, only calming in the middle of it all to fall in love before they were back at it with an inferno that burnt everything they’d had to the ground. Everyone around them had gotten burned in the blaze, even if he and Ryan had gotten the worst of it. But Ryan was the one with the match. He’d started it. He was the one who had started the end, and maybe Brendon had gotten some gasoline along the way, but a flame needed to be ignited and Ryan was the one with the goddamn spark.

As they reached Brendon’s house, Ryan looked over. “Bren, listen I-“

“Don’t.” Brendon mumbled, shaking his head. “Don’t make it any harder than it has to be.”

Ryan sighed, but nodded all the same and unlocked the door. “I guess I’ll just see you around then.”

“No,” Brendon murmured, getting out and looking down at Ryan from the sidewalk. “I don’t think you will.” He shut the door, waving slightly before turning around.

He didn’t react when he heard the window roll down and Ryan shout his name from the car. The sound of the engine shutting off and the door opening and closing confused him, but he just kept going. Finally, he turned around when he heard quick footsteps coming his way, and there was Ryan before him, so close that there was no way it could be pushed off as anything other than him purposefully invading Brendon’s space.

“W-what are you doing?” Brendon whispered, eyes trailing up Ryan’s form with skepticism barely hidden behind them.

“Seeing you around.” Ryan mumbled, catching Brendon’s face in his hands and tilting it up to press the singer’s lips to his own.

Brendon blinked and went still, breath catching in his throat. He hadn’t been this close to Ryan in so fucking long. The guitarist was flush against him, gently stroking Brendon’s jaw with his thumb, and kissing him soft and careful. It was suddenly as if they were back in time and nothing had changed. There was no Before or After, there was only Now and Ryan’s lips on his.

“Y’know,” Ryan murmured, breath ghosting over Brendon’s lips and startling him out of his thoughts. “You’re sort of supposed to kiss back.”

And somehow that did it. The words sent Brendon’s body into action and he reached up, hands tangling into Ryan’s loose curls and pulling him back down.

“Just shut up.” He mumbled, crushing their lips together once again.

Ryan gave a soft, pleased noise in the back of his throat that made Brendon shudder. The guitarist’s long fingers pulled Brendon’s face closer, gently wrapping around the nape of his neck and tilting his head further back. Brendon couldn’t help but gasp at the soft push of Ryan’s tongue against his bottom lip. His mouth moved against Ryan’s, desperate and hungry.

“You should come inside.” He whispered before he could stop himself.

He pulled back just enough to look up, watching as Ryan nodded. The singer tried to hide a smile as he gazed at his former bandmate’s flushed cheeks, messy hair, and shiny lips.

“C’mon.” He said, grabbing Ryan’s hand and pulling him up the drive.

He tried the door without thinking, finding it locked. He swore, glaring down at the knob as if maybe he could force the damned thing to open if he stared hard enough.

“You don’t have your keys?” Ryan asked, sounding just slightly panicked in a way that made Brendon feel a little better about the situation.

“My keys are with my wallet, Ross, which is with all my other shit that, no, I do not have.” Brendon huffed, directing his glare from the door up to Ryan.

“And you don’t have a _spare_?”

Brendon blinked and nodded, dropping to his knees and crawling over to the edge of the sidewalk. He laid flat on his stomach and wiggled forward, arm stretching out to reach under the bushes where his fingers fumbled around in the dirt until he felt cool metal touch his skin.

“You keep your spare key in the bushes?” Ryan asked as Brendon stood, key clenched in his fist triumphantly.

“Where else would I keep it?” Brendon asked, pushing himself up.

“Um, under the mat? Where normal people keep their spare keys?”

Brendon rolled his eyes. “Yeah, that’s where they want you to keep it, Ross. Have fun getting robbed.” He said, unlocking the door and stepping in.

Ryan just scoffed, but didn’t say anything as he followed Brendon inside. “Nice place.” He noted, and Brendon turned to see him looking around.

“Thanks. Not really here much.” He laughed, the sound a little awkward and strained. He fucking hated it here actually. Hated being alone in this place that was far too big for him with far too many rooms and far too much space. He needed to be around people, needed to be distracted, and even if there were cons to being on tour the pro of never having enough time to be alone with his thoughts outweighed everything.

If he sounded slightly strange, Ryan either didn’t notice, didn’t care, or was just kind enough to ignore it. Like maybe he understood.

“You, um, want a drink or something?” Brendon tried, biting his lip and toying it between his teeth.

“Huh? Oh, uhm n-no thanks, I’m good.” Ryan’s eyes found Brendon again and suddenly the singer was seeing that scrawny kid he’d met six or so years ago. The one whose hair fell in his eyes all messy and unkept, who stuttered and mumbled out his sentences awkwardly because he was far better writing words down than he was speaking them. It felt like lifetimes ago that Brendon had nervously walked into that room and stood before Ryan, Spencer, and Brent for the first time. How had they ended up here?

How had they gone from arguments about the music and hopeful emails to Pete, and secret kisses on the tour buses and hushed giggles, to this? To standing in Brendon’s stupid fucking living room that was too big, staring at each other like strangers?

It was too much. The silence, the way Ryan looked at him now like he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do-what he was _allowed_ to do, the way Brendon couldn’t think of a single damn thing to say that would fix it all. It was all too much so he just rushed forward and jumped into Ryan’s arms, kissing him for all they were worth.

He felt Ryan stumble back, but the guitarist’s arms came up beneath him, hands going to his thighs and hitching them up around Ryan’s waist.

“Bedroom?” The older boy mumbled, voice coming out a little breathless now.

“Down the hall.” Brendon muttered, fingers tangling in Ryan’s hair once again.

Ryan nodded, his own fingers digging into the flesh of Brendon’s thighs as he made his way down the hall, pushing the bedroom door open with his back. He turned and faced the bed, dumping Brendon onto it and pulling back to undo the buttons on his shirt.

“Wait.” Brendon gasped, crawling to the edge of the mattress and pushing up onto his knees. “Let me.” He mumbled, batting Ryan’s hands away and deftly undoing the buttons.

He bit his lip, focusing on getting the shirt open and off of Ryan before tossing it onto the floor.

“Your turn.” Ryan’s voice was low and almost rough, so different from his usual bored monotone. He tugged at the hem of Brendon’s t-shirt, gesturing for the younger to lift his arms.

Once the fabric was no longer an obstacle, Ryan pushed Brendon flat on the bed and kissed him again.

“Fuck, Ry.” Brendon breathed, arms going to wrap around Ryan’s neck.

“That’s the goal.” He murmured, snaking his hands up Brendon’s arms before pinning the singer’s wrists above his head.

His head dipped down, lips pressing to Brendon’s throat, and he gently kissed along the skin against his mouth, tongue slipping out to taste the sweat just barely pooled in the hollow of the younger’s throat. His free hand slid down Brendon’s front along his jeans and stopped to cup the growing bulge there, palming him gently, teasingly.

“Ah, fuck, Ryan.” Brendon’s voice left him sounding a lot needier than he’d intended, high pitched and wanting.

“Mm, can’t you be patient for like, two seconds?” Ryan mumbled, grazing his teeth down Brendon’s collarbone and sucking lightly.

Brendon shivered, gasping softly and letting his head fall back. He had a retort, something sarcastic and witty he was sure, but it died in his mouth as Ryan bit down a little harder and squeezed his crotch lightly. Fuck, it wasn’t fair how Ryan could still do this to him, could just take him apart and unravel him slowly like it was nothing. His wrists were still caught in Ryan’s one hand, so all he could do was curl his fingers in pleasure and rock his hips up into Ryan’s other hand.

Ryan pulled back, pressing down on Brendon’s wrists a little harder for a moment and then releasing his grip, which Brendon knew meant he should keep them up above his head. He felt the guitarist mouth his way down Brendon’s front, kissing along his chest and in a line down his stomach leaving goosebumps in his wake. Brendon moaned softly. Heat was rising beneath his skin, little sparks going off at each place Ryan’s mouth touched.

Ryan lifted himself slightly, hovering over Brendon and expertly undoing the button and zipper on the singer’s jeans, pulling them down and tossing them next to his discarded shirt. Next his boxers joined the pile on the floor, but Brendon hardly noticed. He was much too focused on Ryan’s hand stroking him slowly, the guitarist’s eyes burning into his own. Brendon hated being the only one naked-hated the feeling of vulnerability that came with it-so he sat up and pushed Ryan back, going for his waistband.

Ryan snorted. “So impatient. You’ve always been so impatient.” He murmured, though he lifted his hips to let Brendon strip him fully now.

Brendon shrugged and moved over to push Ryan back against the headboard. “You’ve never complained before.” He said simply, ducking his head down and swiping his tongue up the underside of Ryan’s cock.

Ryan gasped softly, and almost immediately his hand came up to rest on the top of Brendon’s head, just barely lacing his finger in the other’s hair. “Shit, Brendon.” He said, voice breathless.

Brendon just smirked and parted his lips, taking Ryan into his mouth and swirling his tongue across the head of the guitarist’s leaking cock.

“Ah-fuck, Bren!” Ryan swore, groaning low in his chest.

Brendon loved the way he could do this to Ryan. Maybe the lyricist could take him apart with his fingers, but Brendon could just as easily undo him with his mouth. He carefully opened his throat, taking Ryan down deeper. He got about halfway before he stopped and pulled back up, nearly all the way off.

Ryan gave a soft noise that could only be construed as a whine, and Brendon snorted as he went back down. He let himself go even further this time, as deep as he could until he felt the head bump the back of his throat. Then he closed his eyes and slid back up, down again, up, down, bobbing his head and listening to Ryan’s delicious moans all the while.

“Fucking hell, B, your _mouth_.” Ryan groaned, head thunking back against the headboard.

His hand was tight in Brendon’s hair now, pushing and pulling just slightly.

“Bren, you gotta stop, I’m gonna-fuck, Bren. Brendon!” He gasped, finally pulling on the singer’s hair sharply.

Brendon blinked and looked up at Ryan, eyes wide and lips spit slick and shiny.

“Don’t wanna. Not like that.” Ryan mumbled, voice coming out weak.

Brendon nodded, but didn’t say anything, and Ryan reached down to pull him up into his lap, kissing him softly. His tongue was warm and wet against Brendon’s, making the younger boy moan and roll his hips down.

“Where’s your stuff?” Ryan asked, lips trailing down to kiss and lick at Brendon’s neck.

“Ah-fuck-drawer.” Brendon gasped, head falling back. “Bedside table.”

Ryan nodded and shifted, stretching out across the bed and sliding open the nightstand drawer to grab lube and a condom before coming back and kissing Brendon again. His fingers trailed down between Brendon’s legs, teasing his entrance lightly and gaining a needy noise.

“Ry, please.” Brendon whispered, biting his lip.

Ryan nodded and leaned back, slicking his fingers up and watching Brendon the entire time he did so. He let one hand rest on Brendon’s hip, lifting him up slightly and then circling his hole with one finger before carefully sliding it in.

Brendon gave a tiny noise, somewhere between a whine and a whimper.

“You okay?” Ryan asked, nosing into Brendon’s cheek and kissing the corner of his mouth.

“I’m good, I’m good-another, it’s fine.” Brendon murmured, rolling his hips down onto the single digit inside of him.

Ryan smirked and chuckled to himself, pushing in a second finger beside his first and scissoring them both. This was one of Brendon’s favorite parts-feeling Ryan inside of him, moving and stretching him open. He tended to want to move too fast, always claiming he was ready before he’d really had time to get adjusted and Ryan had only made the mistake of listening to his overeager voice once before he learned to take his time and make sure Brendon was really ready.

Now the lyricist curled his fingers and Brendon gasped softly, hips jerking. “There, right there, Ryan!” He moaned.

“There?” Ryan asked, voice teasing as he purposefully missed the spot he’d pushed before.

“No, fuck you.” Brendon whined, trying to angle his hips better to roll them down onto Ryan’s fingers.

“You gonna fuck yourself on my fingers?” Ryan whispered, lips ghosting across Brendon’s ear as he teased the singer’s hole with a third finger.

Brendon groaned softly at the words, nodding. “Yeah, fuck, if you’re not gonna do it I may as well.”

Ryan snorted and pushed in his ring finger, all three deep inside of Brendon now and moving, stretching and loosening him. “Always so impatient.” He repeated, words rough.

Brendon just grit his teeth and rocked down, arms coming to link around Ryan’s neck for leverage as he did so. Just as he found the small bundle of nerves again, steady moans rolling off of his lips, Ryan added his fourth finger.

“Ah-f-fuck, _Ryan_.” Brendon cried, clenching tight around the digits inside of him.

“What, can’t take it?” Ryan grinned, pushing the fingers in and curling them again.

“Fuck you, I can take it. If I can take your fucking ‘monstercock’ I think I can handle four of your weird spider fingers.” Brendon spit, glaring down at the musician.

Ryan just laughed softly and leaned up, kissing Brendon quickly as he wriggled his fingers and pushed them in and out of the singer. Brendon was a symphony of noises by now, moaning needily as he fucked himself down on the lyricist’s fingers. If they kept this up he was gonna cum before the fun even really began.

“Okay, okay enough.” He gasped, lifting his hips.

Ryan gently slid his fingers out, and despite his air of coolness Brendon could see the desperation his eyes. He reached over and grabbed the condom, tearing it open and quickly sliding it down his length before snatching the lube and spreading an ample amount over himself before positioning Brendon by his hips and slowly pushing in.

They always had to go slow like this, half because the sensation was so fucking much it nearly made Brendon cry, and half because if they went any faster they’d both cum in about thirty seconds.

“R-Ryan, fuck I forgot how you _feel_.” Brendon whispered, body trembling just slightly.

“Forgot?” Ryan grit out, teeth clenched from the effort of staying still and not just snapping his hips up into Brendon. “Well let me just fucking _remind you_.” He growled.

Inch by inch Brendon sunk down onto the guitarist until their hips were flush together and Ryan was rocking up into Brendon, shallow little thrusts to help him adjust. Brendon leaned forward, one hand resting on Ryan’s shoulder and the other tangling in the loose brown locks to pull the other closer and kiss him, biting and licking into his mouth.

“C’mon, Ross.” He whispered, lifting himself up just slightly and dropping back down. “Remind me.”

Ryan looked up at Brendon and raised a pow, hands settling on each of Brendon’s hips before he thrust up, not as hard as he could have, but hard enough that Brendon yelped and groaned.

“Remember yet?” Ryan breathed.

“Not quite.” Brendon laughed softly, pushing up and dropping back down as Ryan thrust up in time with him.

Despite it all, nothing had really changed. Of course, everything had changed, Brendon’s world had been turned upside down, but looking at them now one might think that they were the same as they’d always been. Ryan rocked up into Brendon as Brendon rolled down onto Ryan and it was harmonious and beautiful and Brendon couldn’t keep quiet. He chanted Ryan’s name as if it were a song stuck in his head, their lips pushing against one another as he gasped out a swear every time they managed to brush his spot.

They weren’t going to last long, not this time. Not after it having been so long since they’d been together. Brendon was stuck on how much he’d missed the fullness of Ryan inside of him, the feeling of his skin sliding against Ryan’s-sweat slick and warm, how Ryan’s voice became breathier and a little higher pitched the closer he got to finishing. He’d missed it all, and now that it was back-a hurricane raging inside him-there was just no way they could last.

Brendon reached a hand down to stroke himself, lips finding Ryan’s again. “Ry, I’m close, I-“

“Go ahead, c’mon, Bren.” Ryan whispered. His own thrusts were beginning to become erratic, a tell-tale sign that he wasn’t far behind.

Brendon swallowed and nodded, hand speeding up and hips rolling down quicker, and there-fuck there was his spot, Ryan was slamming into it dead on, he was done. He gave a strangled cry, his body tensing as he came. He spilled across his hand and some of Ryan’s stomach, moaning and slumping forward against Ryan’s chest.

Ryan gave a soft little gasp and his hips stuttered as his orgasm hit as well.

Brendon leaned up, pressing tired kisses along his former bandmate’s collarbone. “Fuck.” He whispered.

“Fuck.” Ryan agreed, leaning back against the headboard and tracing his fingers up Brendon’s spine.

Brendon shifted, carefully pulling up and off of Ryan and then falling onto the bed, rolling onto his side. He leaned over, resting his cheek on Ryan’s thigh and looked up. Ryan’s hand fell into his hair, stroking and petting it softly. He reached down and removed the condom, tying it off and tossing it away before shifting to lay down and pull Brendon into his arms, keeping his fingers in the singer’s hair to toy with.

“Is this a one time thing?” Brendon whispered, voice coming out small as he tilted his head up to look at Ryan again.

Ryan stayed quiet for a long moment, mouth tilted just slightly down in a frown that meant he was thinking. “Do you want it to be?” He finally asked.

He always did that: avoided questions with another question, dodging and weaving his way out of being pinned down, out of saying anything that could be thought of as sharing his feelings. He was so closed off most of the time, and Brendon understood, he knew why, but sometimes he just wanted to know what was going on in the lyricist’s mind.

“No.” He murmured, closing his eyes.

If Ryan responded, he didn’t hear. The steady sound of the other’s heartbeat in Brendon’s ear and the soothing sensation of a hand in his hair had the singer asleep before he even caught himself getting drowsy.

\---

When Brendon woke up, the Sun seemed to just be rising. Light was barely filtering through the curtains and the room was just slightly colder, as it tended to get at night. He sat up, rubbing his eyes and looked around to find the room empty. He’d been cleaned off, a still damp washcloth on the bedside table, but Ryan was nowhere to be found, and his clothes weren’t on the floor anymore. Brendon’s had been folded neatly and placed on the dresser.

There was a sinking feeling in his heart, but he just pushed it down and sighed softly, shaking his head. He looked to his nightstand and saw his phone blinking, now on its charger and with far too many missed calls for him to want to deal with now. Zack was probably having a cow. His eyes flicked down, catching sight of a small piece of paper folded on the pillow next to him. He blinked, reaching over and unfolding it in his hands.

_It doesn’t have to be just a onetime thing. See you around._

_R.R_

There was a phone number at the bottom, scrawled out in Ryan’s messy handwriting, and Brendon smiled. He glanced over and grabbed his phone, punching in the digits and typing out a text:

_I don’t have anything to do today, if you felt like seeing me around._

_Could I see you around my place in about thirty minutes?_

_Sure. See you around._


End file.
